Athena Dreams Design

An Enchanting Escapade

One of my "directions to self" lately has been to be less fussy, less exacting, and yes, less bossy with my creative self. My experience tells me that we all have a tendency to get bossy with our creative selves, we all have certain areas where our perfectionist persona comes on strong with that mean crabby voice, and further experience tells me that this tendency definitely gets in the way of creating.

So, why let that voice rule? If we could all go back to kindergarten, and be 4 or 5 again, would we remember hearing that critical voice? I certainly don't. I have memories of rolls of butcher paper spread out all over the floor, and heaps of crayons and pencils and paints and markers, and a pack of 5 year olds going to town with colour and shapes, and laughter. I remember drawing my own version of a pony (it was purple & green) and was asked what it was, and when I said "my pony", the response was "oh, of course." 

By first grade we have already started to learn the fine art of criticizing others, and, of course, self-criticism, and as time passes by that bossy, critical voice can become deafening: when we level it at ourselves, or at others. How to create in the face of all that internal head noise?

My newest recipe for a more free and joyful creative process: choose some colours my soul is loving, quickly sketch some images that are equally fulfilling to my eye, pull some bits of ephemera and papers, and go! Go quickly. Keep moving, keep pulling out colour, keep smiling, (dancing to some Jill Scott, or whatever makes your body move, definitely helps), and when you start to hear that voice, saying things like: "you really shouldn't have used that bronze colour as a ground", or "what were you thinking trying to get the paint to show on top of the photo of columns, it looks like crap", the response is: "Shut up right now, I am creating, I'll deal with you later." And shut up she did.

Just goes to show that I am really not so far away from that 5 year old little girl, I just need to remember to tell the Perfectionist, Joy-Kill Persona that seems to want to run the show, to shut the hell up and step out of my way. And I have to tell you, it feels Great!

Trusting My Own Voice .:. on a Sacred Sunday

Just past nine on a foggy morning Sunday in August: waking to a friendly and very loud blue jay squawking outside my bedroom window, waking alone, and feeling all the space in the bed, feeling my own heartbeat, feeling my legs against the soft comforter cover, realising I am sleeping right in the center of the bed - I need make room for no one but myself.

It's been a week plus of days and nights of my own space. He's been on the road playing music, his life's work. As it got closer to his leaving I felt sad, that little girl sad, that homesick in the pit of my stomach sad: because as funny and strange as it seems, in the 13 years of together, we had never spent more than one night apart. New territory. For both of us.

A few days into this separate-ness, each of us in our own lives, I was so filled with joy. A happy and content and excited joy, all at the same time. It was just me, just my voice in my head, just my needs to be met, just my thoughts to think and be aware of, just me. I have always been quite content to have it be just me, myself and I: my mother often talks about being amazed that even at 4 or 5 months old, I could amuse myself for hours, no need for her to play, or entertain, or keep me company. That has never changed. 

And yet, when you partner with another, there is so much that needs to be shared, communicated, supported, acted on, worked out, balanced. In this space apart, I can clearly see where I constantly stretch myself past the balance point. Where so much of my time is taken up with him: his needs, his feelings, his path in this life. Where my own needs, feelings, and path sometimes take a back seat to his, sometimes I put them on hold. 

As the time has passed in the last few days I started feeling like I wanted him to be gone longer, that he could stay away for another week, even two. That I needed more time with the me, myself and I triumvirate, that I should have more solitude, more time. That sad and homesick little girl, the one who didn't want him to leave, was now mad at him for coming home. 

If I am completely truthful with myself, I know that I need to learn to take the time I need when he is home. Truthfully, I have to put myself first when I need it that way, I need to speak up and say what I need, I need to take that responsibility. 

He arrives home later this afternoon, he called from the airport in Chicago this morning, and I felt happy. Happy that he is getting on a plane and coming home, happy that I felt joyful about his return, happy that I had this space and time to learn a few more important truths about who I am with myself, and in this relationship. Speaking up about what I need in the moment, from him, and from myself, trusting my own voice, just my own voice, and knowing that speaking the truth of my own voice, my own thoughts and feelings, is just the right balance I need to find: whether high up in the air, or feet on the ground, joyful or confused, alone or together, together or alone. 

Practice. It seems this whole life is about practice, and rhythm, and more practice, oh! and trusting that voice inside me, that voice that has always spoken a clear and heartfelt truth, that voice that has never let me down (tho I have let myself down on those few occasions when I didn't listen), that voice who knows who I am, that voice who is me.

One Sunny Summer Morning

There are some days
when the slant of the sun feels glorious
on the back of my head,
when the air moves 
against the skin of my arms
like silk
when I walk 
my early morning trail.

Days when 
the studio feels
dreamy
and perfect
and I paint
and draw
without 
any self criticism
without
judgement.

They are few and 
sometimes
far between
but welcome 
so very welcome
any old time they come
around. 

Listen 100 Times and 100 Times More

a new piece for the 2010 Whirls & Swirls Calendar - november image

Sometimes...

listening is a much better way to go 

than talking.

Today

I am 

practicing 

the fine art

of

listening

and trying

not to talk

so much.